


The Long and Winding Road

by blackswans22



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: BVDN, Family Feels, Flowers, Loss, Lots of flowers, Rememberance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26839822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackswans22/pseuds/blackswans22
Summary: A reflective piece from Bulma's pov on the impact of her mother and her garden.October BVDNTheme- 'the Beatles'*Proud Third Place Winner for the Prince and the Heiress Awards 2020*
Comments: 14
Kudos: 20
Collections: Bulma and Vegeta Drabble Night





	The Long and Winding Road

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time doing a drabble night. It consists of 30-minute intervals for each prompt. There are technically 10 but I ended the story at 7. :)
> 
> I want to thank all the talented authors and artists who participated as well as Rockykelboa for hosting. She did a fabulous job!

_ October BVDN  _

Invasion

As far as she could tell, her husband hadn’t ever given a flower any meaningful attention besides a passing glance. Flora was only as good as the oxygen it could produce, the nourishment it could provide, and wasn’t worth the amount of time or effort it seemed humans liked to give them for their fleeting fragrance and beauty. 

For the woman who saw the world through a broad lens of logic and reasoning, from innovation to adventuring, the rare moments of stopping and ‘smelling the roses’ was a pastime she often found solace in. The gardens at Capsule, cultivated by her mother’s green thumb, was an invasion of the senses that brought on a peacefulness she greatly appreciated, especially as she got older. 

Hysteria

It took some effort on her part to find the time to travel the well-worn paths, observe and admire the lush assortment of lilies, roses, and tulips grown under artificial light but loved all the same. She reflected on the gradual expansion of the space, Panchy’s way of bringing a little joy to the otherwise cold and sterile facility. As the family grew beyond mother, father and daughter, so did the garden. The addition of the abrasive Saiyan prince, then followed by his littler prince progeny, Bulma watched the addition of purple foxglove and oleander. One for her precocious son and the other, a symbol of everlasting love, planted as perhaps a subtle hint Bulma recalled not taking seriously. How right her mother was predicting the connection with the man that caused mass hysteria to the world. As she made her way further up the walkway between the rose trellises and the topiaries in dark greens, she took in the smell of plumerias in bloom. 

Help

When the littlest angel came along, there was a great assortment of allium planted. The round balls of flowers, like giant lollipops sticking out of the ground without stem leaves and heads that appeared far too large to stand upright on their own, swayed in the breeze dressed in whites, purples and pinks. Mostly pinks. The annual flowers made their yearly debut at the princess’s first birthday and every subsequent year after, where she’d set up tea parties and cry out for help as a pretend damsel in distress amongst the ornamental onions. They returned the same time every year until the child became too old to play in the garden. The flowers were beginning to bud as Bulma ran her hand over the waist-high blossoms. She glanced up. Only a little further. 

Yesterday

It felt like only yesterday her babies were still babies, cooing and gurgling into rambunctious balls of energy strong enough to go beyond human capacities. They were both grown adults living their own separate lives far from the safety of their childhood homes and although Bulma went through her empty nest trials, she still had a lot to be thankful for. The business thriving, her family secure, and a devoted husband at her side, the blue-haired matriarch was content with how life had turned out. For better or worse, she’d had more adventures than she could even remember.

The Sun

At the last hill where the inner gardens changed to the outer gardens, she smiled under a sunny sky dotted with wispy clouds at the sight of her son, proud and strong, and daughter, elegant and coquettish, standing beside their dignified father at the far end of the compound. So pleased she was that the years took his harsh, unyielding ways and replaced them with respect and devotion as he smirked with wisened eyes and took her outstretched hand, weathered from age and experience. She was sure the wrinkles at her eyes were numerous but didn’t care as much anymore while beaming at her children.

The family of four walked carefully along the brick path to a wooden archway covered in creeping white-flowered wisteria with their elegant dangling tendrils. 

Lonely Heart

“Hi, Mom.” Bulla’s voice came out as familiar as her own and looked at her with the same blue eyes, although hers were framed on a wrinkleless face and perfect eyeliner. “We waited for you.” 

Trunks put a warm arm around Bulma’s stiff shoulders in a hug and she patted him in response, noticing the difference between his youthful tan skin from his father against her age marked arm.

Although her two children were perpetual members of the lonely hearts club from deep trust issues, Bulma appreciated that they took time out of their schedules and social lives to honor those that have passed. She had raised them to be upstanding and responsible people. Seeing them on the day she considered one of the saddest days of the year demonstrated their respect and obligation to their mother, even after so many years.

Come Together

Teary-eyed, Bulma hooked her withered arms with her adult children’s as the family got to their knees on the moss covered ground. She felt the gentle press of her husband’s hand at the back of her neck, the warmth of his palm soothing the ache in her heart. She lifted a hand and touched the grey marble in front of her, tracing the etching on the surface with her slim fingers that read Dr. Briefs and Panchy Briefs.

“Grandma, Grandpa,” Trunks began while clearing his throat as Bulla got up quietly and collected a handful of wildflowers in blue, yellow, red and white, carefully holding the cut stems in her hands reverently as a silent tear trailed down her cheek. 

“It’s been another year and we still miss you so much.” Trunks mumbled with a soft sniffle. “Thank you for all you’ve done for us. We will remember you both always.” 

Her husband squeezed her shoulder, his presence always there for her, as Bulma smiled solemnly, unashamed of the wetness that fell from her swimming blue eyes. She still had her family, her mother’s flowers, her memories. She was thankful they always found time once a year to come together. 

  
  
  



End file.
